


Alone

by riumairu



Series: in which i attempt to write feelings [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Emotion Play, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Heavy Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mostly Gen, Volleyball, focuses on Kageyama’s feelings, read it to find out lol, sad ending but happy ending at the same time??, sad music plays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riumairu/pseuds/riumairu
Summary: And there is nobody around him. Nobody who is there to embrace him, to reassure him that it’s going to be okay, to make him feel whole again.He is by himself in his own house, numb and devoid of emotions, and a part of him thinks, it’s easy to be lonely when you have such cold blue eyes like his.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Hinata Shouyou
Series: in which i attempt to write feelings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676845
Comments: 16
Kudos: 158





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> buCKLE YOUR SEATBELTS ITS KAGEYAMA ANGST  
> the last Haikyuu chapter got me feeling some sort of way so i wrote angst  
> i know, i’m a genius  
> pls read it lol

Tobio has always been a lonely child.

It’s something his relatives despise - They’re always _nagging_ on and on about how such a young child should have more friends, that he has to _smile_ more and _laugh_ more and _talk_ more. That he should be focusing more on building strong relationships for a happy future, to not waste his time and energy on a mere game that will never love him the way he loves it. That it’s not _good_ , no, not good at all, for such a young child to be so quiet _,_ so apathetic _,_ so _lonely._

He doesn’t understand the words, as he thinks he is perfectly content to use all his time focusing on volleyball with his grandfather beside him. He thinks he is happy with his grandfather and his sister around him. He smiles plenty around them - Them and volleyball are what fills him with joy . They race together everyday, their mornings consisting of called out challenges and a familiar ache in his thighs and warm, warm sunlight pouring down on them, tainting their blue eyes orange and their black hair silver, of ruffled hair and bright, bright smiles. They laugh and run and feel _alive_ , and Tobio is exhilarated _._

He is perfectly fine to set at the walls, who do not _demand_ or _judge_ or _expect._ They are calming, they are quiet, they do not judge him with narrow eyes and futile scoffs. 

Tobio is content.

But he’s only five, and things change.

-

When he enters elementary school, Tobio joins his first team. _Little Falcons_ is the name of his team, and with it, he gets to stand on a hard, waxed floor, gets to feel the ball warm in his hands, gets to feel that swoop of adrenaline as he tosses the ball up for a serve. 

The gym smells like fresh cut wood and sweat and _joy_ , and slowly, it begins to smell like home. The gym is a place where the nets are tall, the large lights bright, and the smiles brighter.

The gym is a place where there is not much colour at all, and yet, colour is everywhere.

There is colour, swirling up and up and higher into the sky, into the void, into the sun, dancing around Tobio. It is fascinating, it is warm, it makes him feel _alive_ . There is red, red like rubies, red like crimson rose petals pouring from the seams of the ball, there is orange, orange like sunsets and sweets and laughter, cascading down from the ceiling, from the sky , where there is bright yellow stars that shine even at the darkest of nights, of a strong, powerful, bright, joyful sun caressing the green leaves down below. 

There is blue , blue like his eyes, blue like Miwa’s eyes, blue like Kazuyo’s. It is the colour of the sky, it is the place where outstretched wings _fly_ and where purple blossoms. Purple is humming all around the gym, regal and elegant and poised, white is echoing around the gym, white like an angel's wings, white like the shifting clouds up above, and it sounds like the first striking note on the piano.

In the corners it rains black , black like the shadow of the flame, controlling and sturdy, yet it tastes like _freedom_ , of a place where Tobio is no longer Kageyama Tobio, he is just a boy, playing with all he’s got and passion flickering in his eyes.

( _And he loves it, he loves it, he loves it.)_

He loves the heavy, smooth feeling of the ball in his hands, the texture, the feeling, the _flying._ He loves the burning ache in his thighs, loves running until he collapses, loves powering through and laughing, feeling that knot in his chest loosen _._

( _And he loves it, he loves it, he loves it-)_

He adores the way he hangs in the air for a split second, smacking the ball down with a satisfying hit, adores the cheering from Kazuyo and Miwa, the ruffling of his hair, and all the pain, the sweat, the training becomes worth it, oh, so worth it, when he gets rewarded with a bright, bright smile that looks like joy and colour and life.

( _He loves it, he loves it, oh, he loves it.)_

He embraces the pain, the yelling, the feeling of his heart leaping into his throat, of sunlight cascading through his windows, painting him golden, golden, golden. He squeezes tight the sharp, burning pain in his lungs, his thighs, his arms, because the pure joy that comes right after is heaven.

All his senses, all his nerves, down to the very last one, are tingling with excitement. It is _freedom_ , it is _happiness_ , it is _laughter_ , it is what it means to be alive.

_(And he loves it, he loves it, he loves it_ . _)_

He feels like a king when he plays. He gets to control his own body, and he _chases_ after the ball with all he’s got, his eyes flashing like a madman, _crazy_ with that addicting tingling sense of adrenaline.

He flies when he plays. It is when he picks up the ball that he can spread his wings.

_(And he flies- In the void, into the sun, into roses and sunsets. Into stars and leaves, into oceans and palaces, into freedom.)_

_(_ **_Into home_ ** _.)_

_(And he loves it, he loves it, he loves it.)_

_-_

When he had first signed up for the team, Kazuyo had asked, smiling down at him, “Which position do you want to be?’

Tobio blinked. And he thought.

He thought about playing and flying and colours and space, of joy and pain, of a fresh breath of air. He thought about Miwa, her black hair flying in the wind, about Kazuyo, blue eyes crinkling at the edges, lips twisted up into a soft smile, gentler than anything. 

He thought about home, he thought about being alive.

“The one who touches the ball the most.” Tobio answered, his voice firm.

With a smile, his grandfather had answered that that’d be the setter.

And Tobio smiles, smiles so brightly, and replies: “Then that’s what I’m going to be.”

(His grandfather beams back, pride swelling in his chest.)

-

Tobio sneaks a glance at the scoreboard, and feels his stomach plummet.

20 to 12, second set.

No. 

He… he doesn’t want to stop yet. He wants to keep playing- keep flying, keep feeling alive.

He wants to stay on the court, feel the barely contained euphoria pulsing through his veins, feel the adrenaline as he scrambles after another ball, see the colours of the winds, smell the faint scent of sweat, of freshly cut wood, of _home_.

He wants to stay here, where home is.

Tobio makes his decision, and serves.

-

“Tobio at the end of the match there, did you give a lighter serve on purpose?”

Tobio jolts at the question, turning slowly to face his grandfather, but stays silent, fidgeting absentmindedly with his fingers. 

His grandfather only chortles, and nudges him lightly, “Why’d you do that?” He asks.

Tobio pauses, then says: “If I didn’t, the game was going to be over too fast.” 

“I wanted to keep playing lots and lots longer.” 

( _Because he loves it, he loves it, he loves it-)_

His grandfather looks up at the darkening sky, face illuminated by the sunset, and smiles. “Y’know, Tobio… If you get really, _reeaally_ good, you’ll get to play _lots_ more games.” 

He turns to Tobio, and laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight.

“If you get really good, I _promise_ you, somebody who’s _even better_ will come and find you.”

Tobio’s eyes light up at this, and he grins back. 

-

Junior high arrives in a flurry, his elementary graduation a blur of smiles that are finally, _finally_ unlocked after so many years, flowers in all kinds of shapes and sizes and colours. His relatives nagging goes down, and Tobio is happy.

Then, they start to call him a _genius_ . In whispers and envious glances, they start to _judge_ and _expect_ yet again.

And Tobio isn’t quite sure why, but the words put something heavy on his shoulders. Something to deal with, _alone_. 

(He chooses to ignore it.)

-

… It all starts to crack and decay when his grandfather falls ill. 

Tobio visits him, occasionally with Miwa, who has quit playing. ( _Why, why, why?)_ They talk for as long as they can until his grandfather excuses himself, ( _Because he’s tired, tired, tired-)_ and Tobio is left to think alone. 

Pieces and bits are starting to break when his upperclassmen accidentally almost lashes out at him, catching Tobio by surprise. 

His upperclassmen looks apologetic, shocked, _terrified_ , and Tobio sees himself reflected in wide chocolate brown eyes. Tobio spares another glance at the male, and sees him curled up near the wall, choking on his own sobs, another one of his senpai embracing him fiercely.

( _He feels his heart clench, a strange feeling of envy lingering there.)_

Tobio wishes he had someone to embrace him.

(Once upon a time, he did, but now it has all fallen apart.)

-

Whole _parts_ are coming down now, _crashing_ and _burning_ when his grandfather passes away.

Tobio pays his respects at the funeral, dressed in a fine black suit, stiff and cold blue eyes numb and devoid of feeling.

( _He hates the picture frame that rests on the wall, because there, Kazuyo is smiling, he is happy, he is_ **_alive_ ** **,** _and what Tobio would give to have him back-)_

He feels frozen, trapped in an icy tundra, with no escape. He feels as if he is _drowning_ , sinking under with no hand to grab, no rope to grasp onto. He gasps and _yearns_ and _prays_ for a single breath of fresh air, for a way to get out. 

He feels joy being sucked out of his body, like a black hole in space, swallowing in his hopes, his dreams, his feelings, _Kazuyo-_

_(Let me out, let me out,_ **_let me out of this tundra, of this hell-_ ** _)_

But there is no way out, and no one to help him.

( _Because his grandfather is gone, gone, gone.)_

And Tobio, at a mere thirteen years of age, finally realizes that he is truly, inevitably, _alone_.

(And the tears, the memories, start forming into something beyond comprehension.)

-

With all the stress that follows his grandfather's passing, Tobio is broken.

He takes out all his stress on his teammates, on _volleyball_ , and he sets the ball with all he’s got, longing for something, _anything_ , to take this horrible _pain_ away. 

Because there is _no longer anyone_ to run with him, _no one- NO ONE-_

_(He runs and runs, hoping to feel pain again, feel happiness again, but it is to no avail, and he **hates** it, hates it **so much—** )_

_(He wants Miwa back, who is too tired to play anymore, always too busy, too distant, she doesn’t love volleyball anymore, she doesn’t love_ **_him_ ** _anymore-)_

_(He wants_ **_Kazuyo_ ** _back-)_

_(Who is DEAD. Dead, dead, dead, gone,_ **_GONE, GONE-_ ** _)_

( _There was nobody-)_

_…_

-

_(He still plays, of course. He doesn’t want to give the thing, the game that_ **_Kazuyo_ ** _gave him away, can’t let it go to waste-)_

_(But it does no longer feel like home.)_

_(Vaguely, he wonders if he will ever be able to feel alive again, wonders if he will ever be able to call a place home again.)_

_(The times where he, Miwa, and Kazuyo used to spend time together is now spent by himself. Him, with his stupid cold blue eyes and his stupid frown--)_

...

_-_

That _something_ truly takes form when Tobio sets the ball, and it doesn’t hit a hand, but the hard, waxed floor.

And it continues to form - It forms into a crown, heavy and uncomfortable and way, _way_ too cold where it rests on his head. The heavy feeling from so long ago is now a scepter , gold and red and glittering and _sharp_ and _painful_ . That team jersey is now a cape, a cape of crimson blood and it’s long and drapes all over his _pathetic_ body.

And for all it’s length and layers, it is anything _but_ warm. 

( _His eyes dart from hand to hand, a shiver wracking through his body--)_

No, it is frozen and cold and just as _unapproachable_ as _him and his stupidly cruel, cold blue eyes_ . It is everything he’s ever hated about himself, it is everything that dictates who he _is._

_(Kazuyo would be **ashamed—** )_

It yells out to him, calls him _nothing_ but an _arrogant_ dictator, calls him _nothing_ but a _king of the court_ . It’s all others see, and now it is becoming all that _Tobio_ sees. It infiltrates his vision, _taunts_ his mind, and by _god_ , Tobio wishes it would _disappear_ . It grows larger and longer, _entrapping_ him and _suffocating_ him, taking away his breath.

And he _cries_ , he _weeps_ for a once young, excitable boy, turned into a _monster_ , turned into the king that yells and screams and throws tantrums like he’s _four_ again. He _cries_ , cries like Miwa when Kazuyo _(gone, gone, gone-)_ died, until folds of darkness fall over the earth, until spring cherries die, until his teammates leave, _leave, leave, leave how everyone else left him--_

And everything on him feels so _foreign_ , so _bizarre,_ so _heavy_ . It weighs him down with each _pathetic_ step he _takes._ It hurts like the _burn_ of a thousand fires, hurts like the freeze of a million cold stares. He sits at the top of them all, but he does not want to _be there_ . He heaves a shuddering breath, clenching his fists as if to hide the fact that they are shaking. 

And that he is _terrified_ , and in that moment, he almost resembles his one of his senpai, who had always seemed so _petrified_ of the idea that he would fade away.

But he had someone to hold, someone to care for. 

_And Tobio has no one._

_(There was nobody-)_

And everyone stares. They _judge_ , they _expect_ , and Tobio feels as if he is _five_ again, listening to his relatives whisper about him with their narrowed eyes and poisonous words. He feels as if he has gone back in time, but now he _understands._

And _understanding_ has never been so painful. 

And he feels so _small_ , like a weak, little child _-_ lost and naïve and idiotic and _afraid._ He is trapped with no one but himself, all alone in his small, broken mind. 

And he wants, god, he _yearns_ to be enough once more. Maybe if he had smiled more, or laughed more, or talked more, or listened more, he _would_ be.

But… he isn’t. He _can’t_ , not when _every little thing hurts so much_.

And he tries to remind himself that he is enough, that he is worth it. 

_But, what does it matter that he’s enough, when he’s alone?_

_(And volleyball… he hates it, he hates it, he hates the empty feeling of loneliness, of suffering, of pain, because_ **_he can no longer see the colours_ ** _, no longer_ **_feel pain_ ** _, he is numb, numb, numb, he is tired and broken and there is no more light, and he wonders when this pain_

_will_

_stop.)_

_…_

-

(The king dictates over everything. Over his teammates, over his feelings, over _him_.)

(Please stop, he begs, I don’t want this.)

(I know, the king replies, I know.)

-

His last day of junior high is made out of silence. He watches his teammates celebrate the end of the year, watches his classmates embrace and cry of joy. 

His sister asks if he wants to throw a party, to end the year off nicely. To celebrate a new beginning, to start off high school right.

The subject is dropped shortly afterwards, when it becomes clear, he has no one to invite. 

-

(Tobio is all of ten years of age again, and he wonders. He wonders if being this so called _genius_ will grant him the friends his family wants him to have, wonders if being a genius will give him the ability to _smile_ more, to _talk_ more, to _laugh_ more.)

(It becomes clear that it doesn’t, when he finds that his classmates still disregard every movement he makes, every sentence that escapes his mouth.)

(And Tobio thinks, being a genius is really not all that after all.)

-

Tobio finds it is no surprise when he doesn’t get into the school he wanted to be in. He can’t say he didn’t expect it, and he expresses as much to his sister when she asks if he’s okay. ( _Of course he’s not, he’s not, he’s not-)_

The well written calligraphy on thick, expensive paper gives a multitude of apologies, and Tobio finds it almost _funny_ , that even though he’s gotten so many apologies, in the end, _he’s_ the one who feels the most sorry.

The bus ride back home from the gym is silent. Tobio makes no move to talk to anyone, and he vaguely remembers he has to do the dishes when he gets home since his sister is off at work. And again, for the thousandth time, Tobio wishes that he wasn’t alone, wasn’t by himself.

He lets out a sigh when he gets back, inhaling sharply.

And there is nobody around him. Nobody who is there to embrace him, to reassure him that everything’s going to be alright, nobody to make him feel whole again. He is by himself, numb, and a part of him thinks, it’s easy to be lonely when you have such cold blue eyes like his.

He takes in a shuddering breath, knees buckling, collapsing against the door.

( _There was nobody there.)_

He is completely alone.

-

(But maybe, just maybe, soon, that will change.)

(Because there is a boy, all the way up the mountain, who is made out of smiles and laughs and warmth, who shines like the sun, who’s voice brightens up the room.)

(A boy who has never, truly had a teammate, a team.)

(A boy who is hungry for change, thirsty for growth.)

(Shouyou, who is the other missing half of Tobio.)

(Who will complete him, who will help each other grow.)

(Their mornings will soon consist of laughter and bickering and the races that Tobio oh-so-dearly misses, of happiness and warmth. 

_(A called out challenge, a agonizing breath, the sharp pain in his muscles, aching and painful and yet, so, so good-)_

(Not just a friend, not just a partner, not just a teammate.)

_“If you get really good, I promise you, somebody who’s_ **_even better_ ** _will come and find you.”_

_(A scream. A jump, a single breath.)_

_(But... there was nobody there...)_

“KAGEYAMA!” 

"I'M HERE!"

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> comment and scream about kageyama with me  
> p l e a s e  
> kudos are nice :)
> 
> sad feelings 1 is done  
> oikawa, you’re next 👀


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